


Dark Places of the Heart

by WritingRavyn



Category: Original Work, Vampires - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Abusive boyfriend, Death, Green Eyes, Love Triangles, Murder, Original Fiction, Other, Prequel, Sex, Sexual Tension, Stakes, Unknown Love, Unrequited Love, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, Violence, dead bodies, exorcist, relationships, staking, the exorcist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingRavyn/pseuds/WritingRavyn





	

When he was younger, he had been an avid deer hunter. Every year, he and his dad pulled the rifles from the gun safe and dutifully cleaned them, wiping the excess oil applied at the end of the previous season to impede rust. He used to enjoy the smell of the oil. It used to mean he and his father spent countless mornings together sitting up in trees sharing coffee and sandwiches. A few times they would even see deer; most of the times though, the only result was an empty thermos and a full bladder. While he loved the hunt and being able to come home with meat for his mother to cook, the days without seeing anything were his favorite. Spending hours with his dad telling stories, the walk of shame back to the truck empty-handed, lamenting their bad luck and swearing they’d “get one tomorrow,” were always more special.

It all changed last year.

The season had started as they had previously, rifles were oiled, camouflage and safety orange was readied. Coffee and sandwiches made and packed and the truck warming up in the driveway. Everything was perfect until the hike to the tree stand. The previous week had been sodden. Most weather men were throwing words like “record-breaking” and “unprecedented” into their segments in the morning, noon, and evening news. His father had even talked of postponing their inaugural hunt if it kept raining. Luck seemed to be with them and the rain had stopped two days before, so his father declared the trip a go, much to his delight.

In the pre-dawn darkness he had been walking too close to the edge of the deep channel carved by the small creek during centuries of rain and apparently the recent deluge had undercut the sides of the ravine. Even now, he couldn’t remember the actual fall, just that one moment he was walking and the next he was on the ground struggling to breathe; mentally cursing at the ripping sound of what he thought was his new hunting vest and his father calling from the banks above him. With his diaphragm loosening, he was overcome by a horrible stench. His landing site had been on top of what appeared to be a bloated, dead deer. The recent rains had caused accelerated decomposition and his impact had popped the poor creature like a balloon.

The odor that assaulted David in the attic was much worse. He didn’t know if it was due to the corpses that littered the floor or the beautiful raven-haired girl that was curled in the center of the carnage, apparently asleep. He was unsure which was the greater sacrilege; the horror of the death and decay surrounding the perfection of her, or the fact that such apparent sweetness and angelic beauty was the cause of so much suffering.

The sun was still hovering above the horizon offering its protection in accordance with most of the lore associated with his foe but it wasn’t everlasting. The thought of sunset jolted him to act. Forcing down his gorge, David stepped over the bodies littering the floor and kneeled next to her curled form, straining to glimpse any hint of movement or some other acknowledgement that she knew he was here.

It was definitely Troy, but the clothes were something he had never seen her wear before. Her shirt, the same emerald color as her eyes, ended just below her ribs and almost seemed to be painted on, and her denim miniskirt seemed to conspire with her sleeping position to offer him a glance at smooth flawless flesh that he had only previously seen covered by name brand jeans. The nails on her hands and bare feet were painted a deep blood-red. Countless times he had dreamed of seeing her dressed like this.

His outstretched right hand brushed a cold, gray foot and he was horrified to realize that he had actually contemplated checking to see if the white silk of his dreams was reality. David quickly moved his hand to her hip and his left to her shoulder and slowly rolled the sleeping vampire onto her back.  He was shocked that she was actually warm to the touch since she had been, for all intents, dead for the last month. The tan she cultivated with care while alive had begun to fade, but the lighter lines on her hips and abdomen still peeked above the button and belt loops. He shook his head again.

_Focus dammit._

She remained catatonic as her limbs settled into their new positions, her right thigh on the same decaying foot that broke his trance. Once she was fully prone, he removed the bag from his back and pulled one of the wooden stakes and mallet from the main compartment and the silver cross he had borrowed from his grandmother’s house from a smaller one. He tucked the end of the cross into his shirt pocket and took the stake in his left hand and the mallet in the right.

The stake dimpled the green silk over her heart as he prepared to strike. David looked at her face, serene and innocent in her slumber. “I’m sorry.” He said as he lifted his arm. The head of the mallet smashed into the end of the stake, driving it through her skin and into her sternum— where it stopped.

Her emerald eyes blazed with pain and hatred as she lashed out, knocking the mallet from his hand and sending David through the air away from her. Troy’s pain and bewilderment gave him enough time to clear the cobwebs from her attack and pull the cross that had miraculously remained with him, but it was a close thing. The hand with the cross had just been raised when she ripped the staked from her skin and flung it into the dark corners of her lair. Cross outstretched, David stepped forward with purpose trying, to get her cornered before she could run for the trapdoor to the house or attempt an escape through the small attic window. He needed to end this quickly before the sun was gone and Greg woke and came to her aid.

His first steps drew her gaze and she stepped toward him until the dim light filtering through the dusty window glinted off the silver in his hand. The next steps made her reverse.

Her voice shook with pain and anger, “Greg?”

“No Troy, it’s me, David.” His voice was as unsteady as hers. He took a step forward, she took one back.

She placed her hand on her chest and then looked down at it. He noticed that the wound had healed. Unbroken skin peeked from the hole the stake had made, “David?” she asked, disbelief coloring his name. “But you hurt me. Only Greg hurts me. David wouldn’t…” She stared at the blood on her hand and sank to her knees.

He took another step forward and realized she was crying. “Troy…”

She looked up at him; the tears had dissolved her makeup into black tears that streaked her cheeks, “What happened to me David? Why are you hurting me?”

The confusion in her voice caused his chest to tighten. She dipped her head and he slowly drew the machete strapped to his leg. One constant in all the legends, decapitation always worked, if he could keep her distracted and talking…, “Greg changed you Troy. He…” she murmured something that stopped him short. “What?”

She looked at him with those black tears and repeated, “I did it for you.”

“Did what?” _God, please don’t tell me that any of these people died because of me._

“He was the only person you talked to, the only one you hung around with. I tried to talk to you a few times, but you didn’t get it, or were too shy, I’ve never known which it was, but he listened to me, he was interested.” He could see tears drip from her cheeks. Little diamonds of light in this dismal place, “The two of you were inseparable, so I dated him. I dated him so that I could be close to you.” A knot formed in his throat, threatening to smother him. If this had been a movie, a little bastard in a red suit would have popped into existence on his shoulder. It happened in his head instead using Greg’s voice. _Five years. She’s been with me for five years, and in all that time she could have been yours._ A short laugh followed by a sniff brought him back to the moment. The cross was still between them and she hadn’t moved. She seemed lost in her own world. “At first, things were good, I got to be around you and I even started liking those stupid old horror movies you guys used to watch when his parents were gone for the weekend on one of their little trips. During our second year, after you had gone home, he would ask me to stay and reenact some of the movie scenes. They started innocently enough. He knew I wanted to be an actor and told me that this was good practice. After a while, he only wanted to reenact certain scenes, “the fun scenes” he would call them.”

David’s mind reeled. Had he really been this oblivious? Every couple of weeks, The Matsons would take trips to God-knows-where and leave their son alone in their huge house. Of course this gave Greg an excuse to invite him and Troy over to watch classic and cult horror films. The three of them would cram onto the couch, Troy in the middle with the popcorn, and sit for hours. Sometimes she would put her hand on his leg, but Troy had always seemed more interested in Greg. David didn’t mind, it meant he got… most of the popcorn. Again, Greg;s voice filled his head, _Idiot._ “For our third anniversary, the movies changed.” Her soft, sad voice recaptured his attention, “After you would leave, he would pull this old chest out from under his parent’s bed, pick one of the movies and we’d reenact _those_ scenes.” Her voice caught in her throat, “For two years we would practice those scenes when we could. I knew my lines _perfectly_. For two years I acted the way I should, never knowing exactly why I was supposed to be saying what I was. Except for the first time, it didn’t hurt, and it actually began to feel good a few times, but Greg always ended the scene before I could find out how my part ended. One time I told him that I would like to finish a scene. It hurt that time.

“I began to hate those scenes, but I kept acting, kept practicing. I got really good.” The longer she talked, the more she sounded like the girl she had been 5 years ago, the innocent Troy, unspoiled by the real world. Unspoiled by a monster. “Do you know how I was able to keep him fooled, how I got so good at acting?” David shook his head. The cross and machete had dropped ever so slightly. “While we were doing a scene, I would pretend how the scene would go if I were with you. I knew you would be a better actor than Greg. Alexis told me you were. She was so excited that you went out with her. She said you were nice and gentle. So much better than Greg…” Troy dropped her head again and was quiet. So quiet that David thought she had lapsed back into the daysleep. He stepped toward her, so close as to almost be touching when she looked back up. At the sight of the cross, she threw her arms up to shield her face from the silver symbol, brushing it with her forearm and almost knocking it from David’s grip. She scampered back against the wall, holding her arm while David tightened his grip on cross and blade.

He watched her for a moment as she cradled her arm. The research said crosses burned vampire skin. He took a tentative step toward her, “Troy… are you okay?”

No answer. Troy just sat there looking at— no, though him, with what David’s dad would have called a thousand yard stare. It was the look some soldiers get after particularly horrible events. The look that means they’ve gone someplace else to escape the horror they’ve seen. “A year ago…” her voice was so soft, David caught himself moving forward. He stopped, but she didn’t, “…I decided that I needed more. I needed to know why I should say my lines. All the best actors know their reasons, they all have their motivation. I needed to find mine. True, I did have you and that small bit helped me be good, but I knew that I needed more to truly be great. I had the _who_ but I needed the _why._ I waited until Greg had finished and while he was in the shower, I looked for another scene, one where I didn’t need him. One I could do all by myself; my monologue, my soliloquy.” Her eyes focused on him, “I found one easily enough and began started. It was a really easy, some of the parts I already knew and the lines were the same as the ones with Greg. That day’s scene had actually been nice, so it was easy to get into character. I did what I usually did and imagined it was you and then something incredible happened. I finally _knew_ the meaning behind the lines. I had my motivation. And I did something I had never done before— I improvised. Two little words that I had never said before; two little words that just seemed _right_ for this scene.

“I said them quietly so he wouldn’t hear. For a long time, I thought he hadn’t. The scene was long over by the time he appeared from the bathroom and I lay there, content for the first time, as he kissed me.

“It wasn’t until much later that I found out he had heard.” Pure pain dripped from her voice, drawing him closer, “It started in little ways. His temper would become shorter when we were alone. Not with you, never in front of you. We were the perfect couple when you were around. I began to crave the time we spent with you even more than I had previously. Around you, he wouldn’t yell. No mean poking or malicious twisting when we were together. I could almost forget the rest during these times, but you couldn’t be with us all the time. It wasn’t long after that it always hurt, that’s when I knew.” David stood over her and raised his machete, more than ready to end her suffering at the hands of his former best friend. She looked up at him, the keen edge of the blade glittering in the low light. New tears began to fall making clean trails in the wash of mascara on her cheeks. “Please don’t hurt me David. Please don’t be like him. I want to remember you as the one true good thing in the last four years.” Her large green eyes pierced his heart, “Please.” she whimpered and dropped her head again.

“I’m so sorry Troy, I never knew. You should have told me. We were friends too, I would have…”

In a blur of motion, she was standing in front of him, her hands around his, grinding the bones together, “You would have done what David… saved me?” the scared, pained, innocence was gone, replaced with steely hatred. “What should I have told you? Should I have told you that while your best friend was fucking me six ways from Sunday that I was fantasizing it was you?” She wrenched the machete from his hand and threw into the far wall, burying it to the hilt in the sheetrock and wood. With his right hand free, he tried to push her away but it was as much use as trying to move a marble statue. In desperation, he drew back and punched her in the mouth only to hiss in pain as he shredded his knuckles on her teeth. She dabbed at his blood on her chin with two fingers and slowly slid them into her mouth. She shuddered and David’s blood ran cold. Her glittering gemstone eyes bored into his as she forced him to his knees in front of her. “Sweet.” She turned her attention to the cross she had trapped in his left hand. Hesitantly, she lightly touched the pad of her index finger to the center of the icon. When there was no pain, she laughed and plucked the silver from his hand before tossing him aside like garbage.

He stared in horror, “How did you…? It’s supposed to burn you.”

She laughed and tapped the end of the cross on the side of her mouth, “When you first pulled this stupid thing out of your bag while I was asleep, it didn’t do anything to me, I felt nothing. Once I woke up and fought through the pain you inflicted on me,” her hand strayed to the hole in her blouse, “I saw it in your hand and it made my skin crawl, but the longer I kept talking, the less and less it bothered me. The final proof was when I tried to knock it away. It didn’t burn when I touched it.

“It’s nothing but a cold piece of metal now, not good for anything anymo…” She turned back to him with a predatory grin. The end of the cross slowly played across her bottom lip, her tongue absently dancing over the tip. “Ohh I have a wonderful idea, we could finally have our scene. Surely you remember the one David,” with slow, liquid grace, she lowered her hand allowing the metal to slide down her chin then her neck. At her chest, either through gravity or design, the cross rotated in her fingers. His attention was firmly fixed on the silver as it danced across her skin, his breath caught when he noticed the lower end of the stipe catch slightly as it slid over her silk-covered chest. “It’s from one of your favorite movies. The young girl possessed by the devil. The first time I saw what she did with that cross, why, I was horrified. Of course, that was before Greg became my acting coach.” She gestured with her left hand, the right still moving slowly downward, the skin of her abdomen dimpling slightly as the cross moved with it. “and considering the last month, that movie just seems so passé now.” The cross reached the top of her skirt and paused. “I think I have another idea.” She sighed as she slid it into her waistband and began to slink toward him, her bare feet stepping soundlessly over the debris and death that covered the floor. For every step she made, he crawled back. More than once, his hands found sticky puddles of god-knows-what or too-soft limbs. All too soon, he was against the wall with no place to go.

She stood over him and chewed the end of her finger thoughtfully all the while muttering to herself. David couldn’t hear everything, but he did catch words and phrases. Things like “acid” and “peeled like a grape” began to worry him. Frantically, he began looking for an escape route while she seemed distracted. Before he could move, she dropped to her knees, straddling him with her face inches from his.

“Here are your choices, my dearest. You can join us. Let me turn you and the three musketeers can ride again forever. Just think you, me and Greg wandering the world, seeing everything we ever dreamed of and doing anything we want.

“You can tell me to go to hell and I’ll turn you anyway then spend eternity peeling the meat off your bones every night and letting you heal every day. I think this one could be fun.” She said with a grin. “Your last choice, and I think I like this one the most, join _me_. We’ll leave Greg in this decrepit old house and ride off into the sunset.” She writhed in his lap and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Well, one of us will be riding anyway.” Any reaction his body had to the stimuli died when he noticed the tips of her fangs.

“Do you ever think about anything but making love?”

Stars blossomed around him as she grabbed his chin and slammed the back of this head against the wall and through the sheetrock. If there had been a wall stud, he would have died. “Weren’t you paying attention earlier?” she screamed. “No one’s ever made love to me. We fucked!” She pulled him free from the hole and brought his face near hers and gently licked the blood from the small cuts on his face. “I really wish you hadn’t been so oblivious.” She gently nibbled his earlobe taking pains not to draw blood with her fangs. “Maybe you could have shown me what it was like to make love.” David felt the tear slide from her cheek to his.

 


End file.
